


No Love Song Finer

by leiascully



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Brunch, M/M, Post-X-Men: Days of Future Past, X-Men: Days of Future Past References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:58:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Erik and waffles and a bright new day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Love Song Finer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fourteenacross (pocky_slash)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/gifts).



> Timeline: Post-DOFP but no real spoilers.  
> A/N: For fourteenacross, who is the best.  
> Disclaimer: No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

In Charles' kitchen, nearly everything is metal these days. There are metal mixing bowls and metal pans and metal implements, and a chic French press and matching cups with modern metal sleeves. The fine old silverware has been exchanged for a tasteful set of nickel silver. There is even a sleek metal cage around the bottle of champagne levitating over his champagne flute (lovely lead crystal set into a metal base, half-full of orange juice). It's taken years of trial and error to equip his house, but he's unspeakably glad to have had years. 

"Enough?" Erik asks.

"Enough," Charles tells him. The champagne bottle replaces itself on the table. Charles reaches out and lifts the glass to his lips. "Very nice, Erik."

"Yes, I've perfected the art of brunch drinks," Erik says dryly. "Must have been all that time I saved when I decided it wasn't worth trying to take over the world." 

"A much worthier pursuit," Charles says, smiling. He replaces his glass on the table. "I'd much rather be discussing politics with you here than in the Hellfire Club or in some fanciful prison."

"I certainly wouldn't have allowed kippers at the Hellfire Club," Erik tells him, glaring at the saucer next to Charles' plate of eggs Benedict with salmon and fried potatoes crowded around a Belgian waffle.

"Then I thank you even more for indulging an old man's whimsy," Charles says gravely. 

Erik snort, but his expression is soft. "I suppose you could say that the pleasure's all mine." He spoons a little more Hollandaise over his egg and smears butter over his gently steaming waffle. "We don't get many days like this."

"No," Charles agrees. Their lives are quite busy with one thing and the other. He has the school, or course, and Erik has turned his attention from more radical political efforts to lobbying and activism. Still angry, still urgent, but tempered: Erik hasn't vaguely threatened any heads of state or founded any secret societies for the advancement of mutantkind over humanity in at least six months. The excess of energy has gone towards actively recruiting more students for the school, and, apparently, to brunch menus. This week, the students are on holiday, and they gave the cook the morning off. There's a continental breakfast set up in the usual dining room for those who have stayed at the school, but in the little breakfast nook off the kitchen, it is just the two of them, in the comfortable warmth of sunlight, champagne, and conversation. 

"A truly exquisite meal," Charles says, taking another forkful. "Perhaps you missed your calling, Erik."

"Yes," Erik says, spearing a potato. "Rather than the cause of mutant superiority and justice, I ought to have devoted myself to the humble waffle and the unassuming _pomme de terre_."

"There is a certain satisfaction in a waffle," Charles points out. "And a much more immediate return on your efforts. The wheels of justice have always turned slowly. Not even your particular talents could speed that process."

"Something always prevented me from greasing those wheels to the full extent of my powers," Erik tells him, picking up his own glass. "And for that, I suppose I should say thank you." He takes a long sip of his mimosa, a crease between his eyebrows. 

"Have you been dreaming again?" Charles asks lightly.

"Nothing so defined as that," Erik says. "At least, nothing I can remember. Just flickers of darkness. I'm surprised I didn't wake you."

"I suppose I'm used to your tossing and turning after all these years," Charles says. 

"And here I thought I'd just worn you out sufficiently," Erik teases. 

"There is that," Charles agrees with a smile. "But whatever the reason, I'm glad the darkness was only glimpses."

"Yes, there's been quite enough of that for one lifetime," Erik says. "If one is going to ache from old wounds, then it might as well be from the wounds one has actually suffered." He rubs unconsciously at his wrist for a moment and then takes another bite of egg. Charles reaches across the small table to clasp Erik's hand. Erik lets him, his fingers warm and dry and strong in Charles' grasp. 

"We've come a very long way," Charles reminds him gently.

"Yes, with the scars to prove it," Erik says, but there is only a trace of bitterness in his voice. "And I will say the future certainly is bright. Thanks to you again, no doubt."

"Thanks to us," Charles corrects, squeezing Erik's hand gently. "We are stronger together. We have made a difference, all of us together."

"Very nearly the slogan of the Brotherhood of Mutants, I believe," Erik says, a twinkle in his eye. 

"Hush," Charles says lovingly. "Enjoy the sunlight, Erik. It shines down on a world we have helped shape, and that is a fine thing."

"And more importantly, on waffles," Erik says, reaching for the syrup with his free hand.

"The very finest thing," Charles says gravely.


End file.
